Gold Vs Silver: The Spaces Between
by KissofJudas
Summary: The nightmares have come back, but this time it's not an gunshot and a scream haunting Miles Edgeworth. Based off a Twitter RP group, but might be understandable as a stand-alone. Feel free to read anyway!
1. Chapter 1: The Nightmare's Return

Absolutely and utterly preposterous. Absurd. Asinine. Illogical and irrational.

And still, it woke me from a dead sleep screaming profanities.

Nightmares are not uncommon in my mind, but after I learned the truth of my father's death, I had rather hoped that I could have banished their presence in my mind. And while the nightmare did not focus on that incident, it was no less painful and burns no less in the eye of my mind.

My "little sister" would say it was simply a "fool's foolish foolishness foolishly fooling with foolish foolery." And while it's taken me a few years to translate her, I'd agree.

But that changes nothing that I feel in my chest.

I have long held to the belief that emotions are left for the weak and helpless, and that they had no place in my everyday life. I did not need petty connections to other people. What few people I kept around me as "friends" – mainly Butz and Wright – were held at a safe distance, so that they never got too close, yet also weren't entirely alienated. Franziska...was a different story. If ever I was close to someone, it was her – but even she and I had our understanding. Her weaknesses were hidden behind the crack of a whip, and mine behind the snap of a crisp retort. It was a rare instance if we let each other see beyond them.

So who could have ever seen the kid sister of Lana Skye finally breaking through my façade?

_Ema_. The very thought of that name sent chills through my body, and not for reasons that anyone to chalk up as "good". Because after that dream, one more name shot through my mind, and I could feel the adrenaline beginning all over again.

_Klavier Gavin._

I barely knew Gavin, but I had heard Ema refer to a "glimmerous fop" on occasion, and finally got a name out of her. A young German prosecutor with a penchant for guitar riffs, he was as precise as I was and yet infinitely more … socially graceful. A bit presumptuous and arrogant, but I'd never met a prosecutor that wasn't. Ema had never seemed fond of him; she only spoke of him with any type of respect when overtly prompted. I wasn't sure what precisely she meant by "glimmerous", but it wasn't complimentary.

So why, why, _why_ could I not get the image of the two of them together out of my mind?

As all my nightmares were, the night prior had been vivid and intense. I was waiting outside of the courthouse, at the bottom of the steps, waiting for her. She had testified in the case, and done well for herself … though she didn't see it on her own. Wright came down, reveling in his triumph over Gavin, and we exchanged greetings. A few more faces I didn't recognize came by. And then I saw her, smiling even through her disappointment that all of her work investigating had led to an acquittal. My mouth opened to greet her; I took a step forward to walk toward her.

And he came up behind her, platinum blond hair dazzlingly bright in the sunlight, matching the grin traced across his face. One arm snaked around her waist, eliciting a giggle from her as she batted at it, feigning embarrassment at the public display of affection. Gavin barely reacted, his grin simply growing wider and his grip on her waist a touch tighter.

If ever I had desired to fade into the background, it was then.

But the dream wouldn't end there. Just before they brushed past me, Gavin's eye was drawn toward me, and the pair stopped. "Ah, Herr Edgeworth! You watched the trial, ja? I thought I saw you in the gallery."

My chest hurt. I could barely speak. But somehow, the words, "Yes, of course," escaped my lips.

"Suppose ever Herr Hair gets it right sometimes." The two of them laughed, and even though the jab was not toward me, it stung. _How could she laugh...? She'd worked with Wright..._ "The next time I grace the stage, however, you will not be disappointed. It will be a rocking the court has never seen before!" He mimed playing a guitar exuberantly, drawing another small giggle from Ema.

After bidding me farewell, he went to leave, and somehow I managed to move to catch Ema. He paused, but she looked at him and he simply nodded, stepping a few paces away. "I..." My mouth was dry. No words would come.

"Mr. Edgeworth." With two words, it was as if a thousand of Franziska's whips had dug into my chest. _She'd been one of the first to call me Miles in … I can't remember how long, and now...!_ "It has been a long and tiring day, and I think we both could use our rest. I hope your evening is nice."

She turned to leave, and I managed a weak "Ema..." that made her pause. The sound of my dream voice made me cringe in reality. I sounded weak, broken, damaged in a way I had not been since I lost my father. It was pathetic.

Suddenly her face was hard, and I almost believed I saw her sister in that second. "Perhaps...it would be better for all of us if you called me Miss Skye." She paused for a moment. "After all, Klavier and I have professional reputations to keep up – as do you, Mr. Edgeworth … that is, if you still care about such things." And she walked away, being swept up in the embrace of her former "glimmerous fop", who presses a kiss to the back of her hand and revels in the sound of her laughter.

I scream – no, I roar – I howl in anguish and swear and curse the child whose parents I name unmarried and suddenly I awake in the dark of my room, wondering how I got there and why I cannot etch those steeled Skye eyes from my mind.

As I said, it is absurd. To begin with, I have no evidence that any positive relationship – friendly, romantic, or otherwise – exists between Ema and Gavin. Any time we have spoken of him, she presents a strictly forced civil working relationship, and nothing more.

But though I am strong and confident behind the prosecutor's table, in matters of emotion … of the heart … I am notoriously weak and lacking in self-confidence. Klavier Gavin is all that I am not. Self-assured, confident … entirely unflappable. Where my nerves get the best of me in social situations, he is suave and calm, simply able to waltz through any situation unscathed. Where I hide my feelings and squelch them behind years of training, he dazzles with smiles and flirts with ease. He is sociable, friendly, open. I am reserved, often aloof, closed off.

He is the obvious choice, in looking for a … "boyfriend".

Gavin is the type of person that if you have what he desires, he will find a way to charm the baby birds from your nest and he will have them himself. If it is Ema skye he wants, no amount of sharp retorts or steely gazes will stand in his way. Miles Edgeworth is but one more obstacle he will overcome in his conquest.

And I, having allowed my guard to come down just an inch too far, will be broken by him, if it is she that he chooses. That is one battleground that I am too naïve to fight on.

I promised Ema I would come to the second day of court. She's nervous about her testimony again, especially after what we uncovered today. I cannot say as I blame her; I would be as well. It's a tricky case, and I am far from surprised that it is the first case that Wright takes on after having been away from the bar for so long. While the evidence points against him, I will be far from shocked to see one of his usual turnabouts at the end of the last day of trial.

But I do not know if I truly have the strength to sit and watch a day of Klavier Gavin playing his imaginary guitar where I have so often stood.

...A promise is a promise. I was raised a von Karma, for better or for worse – and before that, my father taught me all that I attempt to hold dear now. And neither my father nor the von Karmas would accept my backing down from this.

So I will go, and I will watch.

And I will pray that my nightmare is just that – a twisted tale from my all-too-vulnerable heart.


	2. Chapter 2: At the Clinic

A/N: Wow! I got reviews on this by people I didn't even send it to! *shock* I'm glad you all like it - I've been doing my best to relay what's going on in Edgey's head over the course of this RP I've been doing. If you're interested in following that, click on over to Twitter and find username Pros_Edgeworth, and that's this story's Edgey. The list he's attached to, the "phoenix-wright-rp" list, is the group of characters you'll see show up here.

I've changed the name a little to reflect what I often write: the "spaces between" the formal RP sessions. I often reference real conversations (you'll see that more in this chapter) but I'm not novelizing the entire roleplay (yet!). I've also been asked if I'm continuing this: and the answer is "probably". I've already got something for a third chapter, and I'm sure that as time goes on, I'll continue to have pieces to add. So I am probably going to continue this. ^_^ Oh - that's the other thing. Everyone's commented that they don't normally ship Edgey/Ema - neither do I! (And neither does the player that writes Ema!) But the way we've fallen together in this had led to a very obvious train of thought, and we've let one thing lead to another. But it is what it is - and I'm glad you all seem to be liking it right along with us!

But now, back to playing Investigations...need to finish that so that I can finally start Apollo Justice! (Yeah, I know. Leave me alone; I haven't played it yet. I will. I promise.)

Here's your story. ^_^

* * *

I do not enjoying being interrupted during my few times out with Franziska, simply because if my phone rings she is apt to whip at it, me or quite usually both.

But when I answer the phone to hear Klavier Gavin on the other end tell me that Phoenix Wright has just brought Ema Skye to the hospital...

I think even Franziska knew from the look in my eyes. She offered to come with me. Honestly, I was surprised.

All I could do was sit there and listen, stunned to the core, as Gavin related a tale of Wright and Ema being at the crime scene when suddenly she collapsed, affected by chloroform. Being the noble-if-stupid individual he has always been, Wright took her under his own strength to the Hickfield Clinic, the nearest health establishment nearby. Gavin had apparently called Ema's phone and gotten Wright.

That must have been a shock.

Had it only been the night before that we'd stood in that very crime scene together? Had it just been twenty-four hours since I opened that safe and had her jump into my arms at the sudden sight of a dead body? And now, after that … _wretched_ nightmare, I am called by the very man I wish to see eradicated from my life more than any other presence, to be told that she is in the _hospital_.

And I wasn't there.

I dimly remember Franziska making small talk of sorts with Gavin, for which I was beyond grateful. He is smooth even with my little sister's whip at the ready, lavishing her with every compliment he knows she would accept. One sentence stood out in my mind: _"Beautiful, perfect, and tough? They should call you the Diamond, Fraulein."_

I nearly gagged. Franziska found it charming – that "the Diamond Prosecutor" had a nice ring to it.

_Ring..._

My body tenses at the mere thought – and as I sit here, forcing down what is probably my sixth mug of scaldingly hot coffee, I can still see the offending object. Just as I sat here, with Gavin and Franziska in front of me, he picked up Ema's hand closest to me, and slipped one of his numerous rings onto her finger.

He told me to "watch her carefully".

As if I would have been inclined to do any different.

So here I sit. Franziska has left, in search of a taxi that can take her back to her hotel. Perhaps when the trial is over, I will offer her a room in my house. It would be only fair. Gavin has left, and I care not if I never see his polished rock-star style and attitude ever again. The nurses have given up attempting to make me sleep, and are simply providing me with mug after mug of coffee.

I fear what closing my eyes would bring. Another nightmare? I cannot awaken screaming in a hospital; I will simply get admitted myself. And if something happens while my eyes are shut? What if she awakens, and I am oblivious to the world with my eyes closed? What will she think of me, a prosecutor that has repressed himself so much to the point that he once believed he could not love another person, that has fallen asleep at the helm while the young and vibrant prosecutor she works for has obviously taken the time to come by and leave a token of his visit with her?

My von Karma logic says that I am the greater man, for I stayed and he left. My Edgeworth heart says that it may not matter.

I want her to awaken, and see that my eyes have never left her, and hear her speak my name as the first words on her lips. I want her to take one look at the gaudy silver-platinum initialized ring and throw it across the room in disgust. I want to believe that for one moment, I have been given a chance to redeem myself in the eyes of another, and that a smooth-talking rock star won't steal it away from me.

I want to believe. I want.

I do _not_ believe that I will get what I want. In the courtroom, I have been trained both to win, and to uncover the truth. I took whatever liberties I needed in the first, and bent in whatever directions necessary for the second. But in the real world, I cannot falsify evidence to make my case. I cannot simply do one thing differently and have everything turn out properly in the end.

I am not the only prosecutor with an eye for this defendant.

And I believe that I am too … uncertain of a claim to be solid in my path. I cannot show how far she has affected me, and therefore she cannot know how much she means to me. For all she knows, I am merely humoring her because I am too … kind? Uncaring? Something... to tell her otherwise.

So I will sit here, unresting, unwavering, until she awakens. And when she does … we shall see what happens.

...Though I will continue to want to rip that ring off her finger.


	3. Chapter 3: Experiment

Needless to say, I should not have been surprised when she wasn't particularly impressed that I had sat awake for nearly twelve hours watching her lie there unconscious or asleep.

But I was still Miles when she awoke.

The past few days have made me realize a few things, both potentially good...and potentially the opposite.

I have realized that I have fallen into this...feeling that I have with more swiftness than I could have ever imagined.

She did not throw the ring across the room, but she had taken it off her finger in relatively short order, and she I protested leaving her and sleeping, she took my hands. That tightness in my chest … the feeling that washed over me as she thanked me for my kindness but berated me for my foolishness … it was unlike anything else I have ever experienced. And I gave in – I went home, and much against my mind's wishes, my body rested for a few hours.

I have realized that no matter what the dream, I can continue to be paralyzed by it.

Upon my waking, I walked down to the courthouse, hoping to see at least the final decision of Wright's case. It was still odd in my mind that he should be an attorney again, showing signs of potentially returning to the man I had once faced down in court. Yet here he was, on the third day of his first trial, preparing to spread his wings and rise from the ashes of his former self – as he so commonly did. I did not see any of that piece of the trial, but a quick question from someone exiting the courthouse told me he had garnered an acquittal. Pleased, I turned to walk up the stairs – and was suddenly frozen in deja vu. This was where the nightmare had begun. This was where I stood to see the two of them descend from the steps and utterly dismiss me.

And in my weakness, I turned and went to leave. It was only by a stroke of luck that I stayed – Franziska had been at the trial and saw me before I had gotten too far, and after a moment or two I happened to see Ema walk down the stairs with not Gavin, but Wright himself. (I won't claim that I wasn't confused for a moment.)

But seeing her face light up and call my name as soon as Wright pointed us out … was worth whatever stress I had faced.

But that too has taught me something.

I have realized that I have allowed myself to become utterly swayed by my feelings.

I had lunch with Franziska this afternoon, and by happenstance Miss Skye came up in conversation. (Ironically, through Prosecutor Gavin.) She commented that I had surprised her. I can't say as I didn't understand – in the times Franziska has known me best, the last thing I would have ever considered was any variety of emotional attachment to a girl nine years my junior – an emotional attachment to anyone, for that matter.

However, I asked her if she thought I was being foolish. Predictably, she said of course, that I was "being a most foolishly foolish fool of a fool."

I should have expected no less.

But when I amended my question to ask if I was _wrong_ for wanting a connection, if it was _wrong_ to begin walking this path, her answer was less sure. She is as they call her, an "ice queen", and her emotions are even further from the surface than mine ever were, but if no one else, Franziska loved her father. She knows that while love is a foolish emotion, it is not one easily argued.

But in the end, she is the perfect prodigy prosecutor, and she dealt me a blow that I have not yet recovered from. In fact, I can still hear her words in my mind.

"_Perhaps it is foolish, but is it wrong? Should I not allow myself to get led into this path, or am I right to want it?"_

"_Hmph. I can't answer that for you, Miles. Is it what you really want? And would you be willing to give up being a prosecutor for Ms. Skye, if it came to that?"_

As meticulous and precise as I am in matters in the courtroom, I do not plan my arguments in advance for the more real and immediate everyday battlefields. Would I leave my prosecutorial position for Ema...? My immediate response is no. That, Franziska would be proud of. As for the matter of if it is what I want, I do not believe I can answer that question yet. I do not know what I want.

But I doubt myself, and my feelings.

What _is_ love? What does "being in love" require you sacrifice of yourself? How is is possible to know if you are "in love" with another, and in converse, they "in love" with you? This is one aspect of my life that I cannot rationalize my way through with logic; I cannot provide decisive evidence that states "this here proves that you love this young woman". Love is a transient, incorporeal thing that I do not know if I can trust yet. It is as a new defendant appears, with all evidence pointing to terrible crimes in their past but a smile on their face that makes the weak heart want to believe they've changed.

How can I tell that I have not just fallen into the immediacy of the emotion?

How do I know if I truly … _love_ … Ema Skye?

If nothing else, I have been shown that I am not acting normally. I have nearly been able to see it in myself. As much as it may be detrimental, I must return to my steely façade, if only for a while. I must allow myself the ability to observe my emotions and reactions without letting them show – and I must be able to observe the way I am perceived by her. Then, and only then, will I be able to know the truth behind this absurdist position I have been thrown into.

At least, that is my hope.

She's asked me to accompany her tomorrow, on an errand of some variety. I'm not sure when she plans on this occurring, but I have nothing scheduled. Therefore I will wait for her, and the experiment I began with the mystery flowers will continue.

Yet a piece of my heart still holds to the hope that she will see through all of this … and I won't chase her away.


	4. Chapter 4: The Graveyard

Back! Sorry it took so long, school's been catching up to me. And I don't know when the next chapter will be, as I'll be at a cosplay convention from Thursday-Sunday this weekend (feel free to ask me if you'd like to know which one...). But I've got a list of everything that I'm still needing to write, and I do plan on continuing as the RP progresses! (It's been so much fun ^_^) Needless to say, any of the dialogue I've pulled from Ema is not originally mine, but the user "Snackoos" on Twitter, as she's the one playing Ema. (Also, if Franziska or Gavin show up and speak directly, it's "DiamondofLaw" and "Rocksecutor", respectively, on Twitter. Phoenix is "DAPhoenixWright".)

Also, as an update, I'm more than halfway through Apollo Justice now. :) Playing "Turnabout Succession" at the moment.

So! Enjoy the update!

* * *

Time after time, I am reminded that while an idea may sound brilliant in my mind, it is not always so once put into practice.

The day had such promise.

Ema showed up on my doorstep after lunch, clearly irritated about something. "Hi, Miles." The name still made me smile inwardly, though the tone worried me.

"Is something amiss? Do you want to come in? You look as though something troubles you."

She'd softened almost immediately, and explained that she was worried she'd made a mistake in not telling me her "plan" for the errand ahead of time. She wanted to visit a few graves, and as she'd received a bouquet of flowers (that she did not believe she deserved), it seemed the perfect way to put them to use.

I had to bite back my amusement as I agreed to accompany her nonetheless, dismissing her concept that the errand was too "morbid". She was convinced that Gavin sent her the flowers, and nothing I said on the car ride there could convince her otherwise. She hadn't asked him and had no intent on doing such, so as to deny him the "satisfaction" of her admitting that they were a team - detective and prosecutor - and thanking him for the gift. True to the nature of my profession, I pointed out that she had no evidence that it was from him - merely that whomever from the prosecutor's office had sent them designated themselves as "hers".

To which I got no response.

I had done everything I could think of to drop the hint, but perhaps I was not as obvious as I thought I was.

The trip to the cemetery was touching. She visited her parents' graves - reminding me that the two of us shared that in common as well. She spoke to them with ease, more ease than I would have had speaking to an inanimate stone.

"Hi Mom and Dad," she said softly, setting a flower on each grave. "This is Miles. Yeah, the same Miles." I wasn't sure what that meant, but loath to interrupt the moment I held my tongue. "Lana's still...well, I guess you know that. Sorry I haven't been by more often. Things have been a little busy. I promise I'll come by more often. Right now...I have a few things to do. But I love you both." She stood again and looked at me, taking my hand gently. "Come on. This way."

Next was Neil Marshall's grave - and this was a name I knew all too well. Memories of the case that surrounded the Marshalls and the Skyes flooded my brain; I could scarcely imagine what it must have been like for Ema.

The last grave she chose intrigued me, for not only did I know the name, but I wasn't aware that Ema - the younger of the two Skye sisters - knew her all that well. Mia Fey's gravestone was simple but elegant, much as Mia herself had striven to be in life. "I don't know much about you, Ms. Mia Fey, but you seemed to have done a lot for Mr. Wright...so I owe you for that, I guess," Ema said quietly as she set the flower down on the ground before the stone.

With one flower left in her hand, she stood and did the last possible thing I'd imagined, though I had rather thought to do it anyway. She offered the flower to me. "One left. For...your father, maybe? Is he here?"

Slowly I took the flower out of her hand. "Yes...he is." I gestured for her to follow and slowly led her to my father's grave.

What could I say? I did not visit the grave of my father with anything even remotely resembling the regularity that Ema did. What do you say to a man that not only had been dead most of your life, but you also believed you killed for a good portion of that time?

_Gregory Edgeworth: beloved father, esteemed lawyer, devoted friend, _the gravestone read. I knelt next to it, trying desperately to come up with something - anything - to say. "...Hello Father. It's been a while, and for that apologize. I...I'm sure you're suprised I brought someone with me. This is Miss Ema Skye. She's... a dear friend, and the sister of my former superior. I...." I felt my throat close up, and I coughed in an attempt to clear it. "I'm not sure what else to tell you. ...Wright's returned to the bar, foolish and lucky as ever. I..." This time, my voice utterly gave out. I could barely speak in a whisper. "I wish you were here, Father. You would know what I should do."

I was amazed at the amount of emotion this was bringing up in me. I had spent much of my life - most especially the time in Germany with the von Karmas - suppressing emotions. They were useless to me; I was a prosecutor and foolish emotions invoked by foolish fools was simply unacceptable (and foolish). But now, attempting to reconnect with the emotions I had hidden away for so long with not only the grave of my father but with the young woman in the lab coat next to me, I was falling apart. And I did not have a single soul to guide me.

After a moment, I noticed that Ema had come up to me and set her hand on my shoulder. "That was sweet. Do you want to be alone?"

I coughed once more and stood. "No." I bowed to the grave, a gesture that had been so ingrained into my movements I barely thought of it anymore. "I'll visit again soon, Father. ...I promise."

Ema smiled with a nod. "Shall we?" As we headed back to the car, she seemed thoughtful. "Funny, isn't it? Even the most foppish of flowers can serve a beautiful purpose."

I smirked, not sure if I was willing to correct her yet or not. "A beautiful purpose indeed."

"Thanks for coming with me. I know it's sorta...morbid. But it's easier when there's someone else, don't you think?"

I nodded, smirking again. "It is often easier with someone with you. Perhaps that is why I do not visit often."

"If you ever want some company to visit, just ask. I won't mind. Maybe we can have Gavin buy more flowers." On that remark, she got a bit of a smirk of her own across her lips, a look she'd had even from the first time I'd met her - and even now, it never ceased to make me think that beyond her somewhat innocent façade, there was a mischievous imp waiting to emerge. I went to correct her this time, deciding that my "experiment" had gone on long enough, but what she did next stopped me utterly in my tracks.

She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek.

The words caught in my throat. I couldn't say anything I'd planned on saying; my brain simply stopped functioning properly. I could feel my cheeks burning.

Hastily, I continued the trek to the car, assuming she'd follow as if nothing was wrong (since of course nothing _was_ wrong, aside from my foolish and ridiculous reaction). "Where to?" I asked, deflecting any attention she might have given my reaction.

"Well, I thought we'd counter-act the gloomy with--" With a chipper tone I was all too familier with, her cell phone began blipping out the Steel Samurai theme. After a brief conversation, she turned back to me, looking dismayed. "I'm sorry...case. I have to go."

I understood all too well. "I understand. Then perhaps just back to your car, then."

After minutes of silence, I knew this was my one chance. The day had been going well, if a bit solemn, and it seemed reasonable to clear up her misconceptions about the flowers. I told her that they were from me.

"You did? But...why? Why didn't you sign your name? Why didn't you say anything?" Her voice was surprised, but held just an edge of suspicion that I wasn't convinced I approved of.

"I was curious as to see who would come to your mind first. The prosecutor for whom you work...or the one who has found his way to your side on his own, willingly." I couldn't look at her. And as the fates would have it, I should have been grateful that I could not see her expression.

For at that moment, everything we'd built fell apart as so many cards in a precarious castle.

"Stop the car," she finally said after minutes of agonizing silence. I did as I had been told, and pulled the car to the side of the road, putting it into park.

As soon as the wheels had stopped moving, she'd opened the car door and gotten herself out. "I can't believe you...are you playing games with me!? Why? Why would you do that? You have never been, nor ever will be my _prosecutor_, Miles. Because you've never been that to me. Just a man. A friend. Or so I thought."

I scrambled out of the car myself, desperately trying to rectify the situation. "Ema, please. Try to understand my reasoning. Allow me to explain."

She ignored me, continuing on. "But if you don't have respect enough for me to honor that opinion, then I suppose I can change my perspective. Goodbye, _Prosecutor Edgeworth_."

She began to walk away, and I moved toward her. "Ema! Ema, please -- please listen to me, I can explain. Please."

I got no response, aside from her simply walking faster.

It was clear I wasn't going to change her mind, so I simply allowed her to walk on and I fell back to my car, leaning against the all-too-expensive sports car, utterly lost. "What have I done...?"

I went back to my house, and fell onto my bed, empty. It had all been going so well.

And I had ruined it all.

Everything.

...I should have known better.

Known better than to think I could change myself.

Known better than to think I had a chance.

Should have known better.

She'd never love something like me.


	5. Chapter 5: Stand on Trial

A/N: Sorry for the vanishing act, everyone! Some members of the RP got busy with real-life and it was frozen for quite some time. But now we've seen a little action, and I'm hoping to catch up in the fanfic to where we are now. Because what's happening now? Will make an EXCELLENT chapter. :) So enjoy!

* * *

Sleep refused to come to me that night. I lay awake, unable to even close my eyes, for with silence I could hear her screaming and in darkness see the pain in her eyes.

I had spent so much of my time focused only on my career – as my surrogate father has desired it – that I had never sought to flesh out the rest of who I was, the rest of the person that was Miles Edgeworth. I was a prosecutor. I did not have time nor room in my world for petty emotions. I lived for the courtroom, to hear the criminal placed before me judged 'guilty' with no room left for contention. And I enjoyed the ability to hide in my career. When I had left for Germany, I was a child – and a broken one at that. In my mind, I had killed my father. I had destroyed the man I held as an image of perfection, of the one thing I truly strived to become. I no longer wanted to care about another person or thing again...and Manfred von Karma gave that to me. He trained the ability – or desire – to care about another person's emotions entirely. Granted, that was not entirely true; I still had affection for both him (to some regard) and for his daughter. But I knew the difference between having familial affection and the ability to tear them both apart in court if ever they fell on the opposite end of the bench from me.

And now, Ema Skye had come along and had begun to chisel away at my walls, bit by bit. And I had let her. She had texted me during the night, saying only "I'm sorry. Let's talk later." I had managed a response that sounded stronger than I was, but...

I got up from bed the next morning and had a rather short discussion with Franziska, who told me that she had walked Pess and that I should go to bed. I told her I had no desire to, and that I would be out for the foreseeable future. She didn't argue much.

I drove without seeing to the graveyard Ema and I had visited the day prior and carefully traced my way to my father's grave. I slid to the ground, as if I were a teenager, and simply sat in front of him, as if by staring hard enough I could will him back to life. "I wish you were here, Father. You would know what I could do. You would understand," I murmured to the stone.

Rain began to fall, and yet I paid it no mind. Slowly it soaked through my suit, muddying the ground I sat on...slowly it began to hide the tears that streamed down my face. In rain tears cannot exist. The rain claims them as their own.

After some time, I finally regained enough courage to text Ema again. _Did you still wish to speak?_ I sent out into the ether. I expected a resounding "no" to return to me.

_Are you okay?_

Had I been in a better mood, I would have laughed. Leave it to Miss Skye to be concerned for the well-being of a man she had fought with rather intensely the day before. _You have asked for honesty from me. So I will be honest; no. I am not okay._

Her response came swiftly. _Can we meet tonight?_

_As you wish. When and where?_

_My place. Around 8. And for what it's worth, I'm not angry at you._

I could feel the tears sliding down from my eyes. I couldn't tell whether I should laugh in relief, or cry from the evident falseness of her comment. She couldn't be telling the truth. _I will be there. -M.E._

I stood, shakily getting back to be feet. "I should leave now, Father. ...Thank you for the council." As it were. I made my way home and changed into something aside from my usual suit: a crimson dress shirt and black slacks. If I was to come to her now...it had to not be as the prosecutor. It had to be as Miles Edgeworth...whoever he might actually be.

I arrived at her house about half an hour later, and was greeted with quite an odd sight. Ema, too, was out of her common attire – she had dressed in a blue suit, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her common emoticon button on the lapel of her jacket. "Miles. Come in." She gestured, and I walked in, stiff and unsure.

She had rearranged her dining room so that all of the chairs were gone, leaving only the table. "Stand on one side, if you please." I had no idea what she was driving at, but I did – and try as I might to refrain from being the prosecutor, I stood to the right. She stood to the left of the table, providing a bar between us.

A bar?

Ema gave me a classic nervous glance, and I truly began to wonder what she was attempting. "So I know this is weird, but...Gavin said that you might understand this better, since you seem to be...unable or unwilling to communicate clearly. I would like you to testify as to your reasons behind the flowers. I-if that's okay. If you want, you may leave." Her gaze dropped to her left and toward the floor, clearly unnerved.

Despite myself, I felt a smile slip across my lips. She and Gavin had decided that since Prosecutor Edgeworth couldn't function outside fo the court, they'd bring the court to him? I nearly laughed. I'd almost have to thank Gavin for this one.

"Very well, I can offer my testimony. and I assure you, I will submit to any level of cross-examination, Ms. Skye." A small smirk played against my lips. "The reasoning behind why you received the flowers in that manner is two-fold. First I will explain the signature. When I attempt to determine a non-specific term for myself, I am and will always be a prosecutor foremost. This is not a comment so much on how I believe you view me, but more how I view myself. I have never allowed myself to be more than simply that. The second reason is closely linked. I..." Here I hesitated. I did not speak of these things, but...again. She had asked for honesty. "For most of my life, I have been plagued by nightmares of one variety or another. Most recently, they...they have involved you. You and more specifically, Gavin. While intellectually I know that you are not particularly fond of him most days, I am far from confident when it comes to matters of emotion. So I doubt my ability to...hold your affection. Gavin is... To my eye, he is the more logical choice. Open, confident, emotionally open, or at least more so than I tend to be. So the note was a test, of sorts. As I believe I mentioned, I signed the note thus to see who would come to mind: the prosecutor you worked for...or _your_ prosecutor. Me."

I fell silent. It had been some time since I was on the stand; it was still unnerving, even being in Ema's dining room.

Ema studied me for a moment. "...I see." Her voice was crisp, in a way that I remembered almost, distantly... "I believe I made my perspective on you being my 'prosecutor' clear yesterday. I won't rehash that. However, I don't appreciate being treated as if I'm some carnival prize between you and Gavin; best prosecutor wins. In fact, I would have expected something like this out of him, not you." She brought her hands down rather sharply on the desk to emphasize her point, in a move that reminded rather suspiciously of both Mia Fey and of Wright. (Then again, I had probably done something similar before as well.)

"Please testify as to what would make you behave this way," she finished.

I, of course, obliged – albeit after a long moment of silence. "In this conversation already, I have bared more of my true emotions than I ever thought I would be capable of. As a result of this...repression, shall we say, I am...woefully inadequate in matters of...courtship. So perhaps I am merely incapable, at this time, at properly expressing my feelings, and hiding my insecurities." I paused. "I assure you, I do not view you as a carnival prize to be won. I am merely...unable to convince myself that there is anything within me that would be able to convince you to stay with me...to give me that chance. So I sought a way to test my theory. ...And I chose poorly."

Ema said nothing for quite some time, and I began to understand – truly understand – the power of silence in a courtroom. "So you have...feelings for me? You're attracted to me?"

This was where my confidence fled. I felt my face burn, and I couldn't look at her anymore. "The feelings are uncommon to me, but...as far as I can identify them..." My voice stuck in my throat for a moment. "Yes."

"Heh. And to think...after all this time..." When I finally looked up, I saw an odd little smile playing across her face. "That's very flattering, Miles. I'm honored. But I don't know if I'm ready for any sort of relationship. I'm just as bad a you are at all of this. I've never had a boyfriend, I've never been very good with people. It could easily be me making the stupid mistakes. But if you want a relationship with me, _any_ relationship, you need to be honest. And clear. Be the man I admired and had a crush on when I was a girl. This...backhandedness, this hesitation, it's not you, Miles. I'd hate to think that _I_ could be the one to shake the great Miles Edgeworth. Don't make me that important."

I had to chuckle. "The hesitation may not be the me that I showed, but it _is_ very much me. However...I do believe I understand what you mean." I bowed with a flourish of my hand, a mannerism I used often in the courtroom. "You provide a fine defense, Ms. Skye, but I will admit. I prefer you in your forensic capacity."

She smiled and me, and suddenly I knew exactly who she reminded me of in that suit. "I do feel a little silly. I must look ridiculous," she added, looking at the well-tailored suit.

"Ridiculous? Certainly not. A little out of place, perhaps, but you..." I smirked. "Well, to be honest – you reminded me of your sister."

A flash of pain, then happiness bolted across her features. "I...I didn't think about that. I have Lana's scarf, after all, and..." She shook her head, clearly freeing her mind from the memories, and hopped onto the table, sliding across to reach me. She sat on the edge, taking her hands in mine and staring me down with all-too-determined eyes. "Wherever this leads us...can we go slowly? Friends first and then...well, whatever happens, happens?"

I pulled her hands to my lips and gently set a kiss to her fingers – something Franziska had taught me to do years ago. "I believe that would be our wisest option." A little shyly, I returned her smile.

She granted me with another, just as bright as the first. "Good. Now, Gavin gave me these vouchers for frozen yogurt. Feel like some?" As she spoke, she arranged her hair back to its usual fashion.

I chuckled inwardly, the corner of my lips quirking just a little. "I believe that would be a more than satisfactory way to end the day." I offered her my arm.

"Hold on." She ducked out, and when she returned, she had shed the suit coat for her lab jacket. With a smile, she put her arms around mine and smiled. "Okay. Let's go!"

Nothing had changed between us, I supposed – except perhaps a bit better understanding of the other. But all in all...the fears that trapped me awake the night prior would not have the strength to do the same a second night. I would finally sleep well again.


	6. Chapter 6: Dinner with the Diamond

A/N: Sorry for the huge long break, everyone. Just so you know: the roleplaying group that this story is/was based on has been defunct for quite some time. However – I do have backups of the tweets that created the story, and thus will continue this story up to the time in which the RP stopped. At that point, I will post a summarization from Edgeworth's perspective, and the story will be considered complete. If the roleplayers return in the future, I will be open to the possibility of continuing, but at this point, my main objective is to do justice to what I started, and then leave it be. Thank you so much for reading – I hope you enjoy the last few chapters.

* * *

The next day, I attempted to resume my usual standard of life. It had been an odd and unsettling past few days, and there was only one thing keeping me from setting it behind me.

What had happened the night before was not simply a creation of Miss Skye's and mine. She had said herself; the inspiration had come from elsewhere – and if I was to truly move past the debacle, I had to pay tribute where tribute was due. I took a pad of paper from my desk and wrote out a short and simple note.

_When you have a free moment, I would like to have a word with you. Stop by at your convenience. -M. Edgeworth._

I sent the note off with an intern in the office and sat back and waited, reading old case files in the process. It was a tedious endeavor, but a man I once admired taught me that the ideal prosecutor never let a detail go by unreviewed – so that one might learn from your past successes.

Or failures, but he had never had time for such foolishness.

Within the hour, I heard a knock at my door. "Come in," I replied, glancing up briefly from my desk.

In walked the golden boy himself, Prosecutor Gavin, a smug smile barely brushing his lips. "Herr Edgeworth, you wished to speak with me?" he asked, glancing around the room.

"Ah, Prosecutor Gavin. Yes, I did. Please, come in." I gestured for him to enter, as I set the case file I had been reading aside.

Gavin did so, shutting the door behind him and sitting in a chair diagonally across from me. He smiled as he brushed his hair from his eyes, making the gesture a point at its finish, indicating something on my wall. "That's a nice coat."

The non sequitur caught me off guard, but I followed his indication with a raised eyebrow. "Ah yes." Of course, he was referring to the coat I'd worn earlier in my career. I kept it on the wall as a reminder – at first of what I could be, and now more for what I would have become. "A bit of a...memento, as it were."

"At times I think those in our profession ignore the theatrics of court. A shame, in my opinion." The rock star turned his attention back to me, as I attempted to squelch the smirk that rose to my lips at the mention of 'theatrics'. "So, how can I help you today?"

I nodded slightly. "Ah. I wanted to extend my gratitude. I hear you gave Ms. Skye some sound advice."

He grinned, the type of smile his kind saved from television. "So it worked?"

"As far as I can tell, yes. It was...unexpected, but effective." I sat back in my chair. "I believe I was able to make myself more clear."

"Good," he replied, a smile still playing on his expression. "I feel perhaps my study of you allowed me some insight. I'm glad it was resolved. Seeing the Fraulein upset is...well."

He needed not to finish the sentence, and I nodded. "I would rather her not be distressed as well, certainly over something such as an argument that should have been avoided."

Gavin's reaction was more solemn than I had anticipated. "Mm. She didn't tell me what it was about, actually. I don't suppose it makes a difference though. Still, Herr Edgeworth, it's only fair that I make something very clear."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I helped you yesterday. And I would help you again." He leaned forward in his chair and smiled, and that smile I was unsure I entirely trusted. "But it doesn't mean I'm giving up on Ema."

I extended my hands in a gesture that showed my lack of surprise and shrugged, shaking my head. "Nor would I expect you to." I smirked in return, tapping my forehead. "But I don't intend to either."

Gavin simply smiled back at me, his usual confident expression. "Excellent. I'm glad everyone is on the same page." He stood, fingers tucked slightly into his pockets. "Is there any other capacity I might help you in?"

I shook my head. "That was all I required. Again, my thanks."

He brushed his hair back, looking pleased. "Then have a good day, Herr Edgeworth."

"You as well, Mr. Gavin." I returned to my case file as he left, but my mind wouldn't focus on the details anymore. After an hour of frustrated attempts, I submitted to the definition of insanity – repeating the same failed actions over and over again and expecting a different result – and left the office.

It had been some time since I'd seen Franziska. As I was purportedly her host while she was in country, I was doing quite the job of acting otherwise. I would have to make it up to her.

And the opportunity was granted me when I walked through the door, as I found my 'sister' seated in my living room, idly perusing a book. "Fransizka. I had rather wondered if we would find ourselves in the house at the same time ever again."

She looked up, all poise and grace as she ever was. "I would say it's because you have been very preoccupied lately."

That was an understatement, to be sure. "I suppose I have. My apologies – I have been a poor host."

"Hmph. I suppose you could have been worse." Franziska von Karma – image of generosity. "Recognizing my existence marks a great improvement, however." The faint trace of a smile she occasionally wore found its way to her lips, which pleased me. That was a sure sign my sister truly didn't mind.

"Perhaps I can make it up to you," I offered. "You have not had any of my cooking in quite some time, I believe."

"Ha!" That widen the smile a shade. "Yes, the famous cooking of Chef Edgeworth. ...Has it really been over a year?"

I nodded, a smile of my own playing across my expression. "I do believe so; quite enough time between meals. Have you any requests? I have time to buy the makings, if you do."

She crossed her arms, and her smile grew almost mischievous, a rare look on her. "Surprise me! Perhaps something of yours I haven't had before...?"

I had to think. What all had Franziska not had that I thought she might like...? "Hmm... I think I know the dish. I'll go to the store and get what I need...and then surprise you."

"Wonderful! I will...find some source of amusement while you are shopping. How _do_ you manage when you have no cases?"

"I have developed several hobbies over the years," I replied with a chuckle. "And there is always Pess to keep you amused." That made me smirk – and her frown only strengthened it.

"Yes. Pess." She cast a wary eye in the direction of my dog. "I didn't know you had hobbies, Miles." Her gaze snapped back up to me. "What do you do? Knitting, perhaps?" she asked with a small smirk.

So her playful mood had not quite left her yet. "Crochet, to be sure," was my response, followed by a matching smirk. "Along with bird-watching and basket-weaving." I ducked into the closet and grabbed my coat.

"Ha! I knew it." She waved me off. "I'll be here when you return, of course." I made a slight bow to her in jest, but then ducked to the store. I knew precisely what I had to get and where to go to get it. I kept my shopping brief, not wishing to try the patience of the youngest von Karma further than I already had.

Only once did my thoughts stray... I had once been made dinner, not long ago but at the same time it felt like years. Perhaps...I should make dinner for her in return.

I slipped back into my house, and began preparing the food. I didn't see my sister, but I knew in time she would find her way out to me – and indeed she did, halfway through my preparations. "You know, Miles, I don't believe you do have any hobbies!" she exclaimed.

I cast a sidelong glance over to her. "Oh? What makes you think that?"

"I have found no evidence indicating such!" Ah. Leave it to her to make my comment a piece of testimony. Why had I expected anything less? She made a decisive gesture with one hand, rather reminiscent of her actions in the courtroom. "There are no hobby books, no 'tools of the trade', no indication whatsoever that you do anything with your spare time besides – reading poetry!" At the last, she produced a book from my shelf, an oddly titled book by a poet I enjoyed a great deal.

But even the Perfect Prosecutor had her flaws, when not all the facts were in place. I smirked as I turned back to the meal I was creating. "I'm surprised, Franziska. Could you not infer that as I read a great deal of poetry, I might also write it as well?"

That pulled her up short. "...You _write_ poetry?" She paused, letting that set in. "Hmph. I have found nothing in your vast collection that appears to be written by you."

"Perhaps I do not keep it on my bookshelf – along with my other hobbies," I responded simply.

Now I was frustrating her, much to my amusement. "I didn't only look on your bookshelves! Are you hiding it – or are you just toying with me? Be honest, Miles." Though I wasn't looking in her direction, I could feel the glare she was giving me.

I laughed softly. "I keep my secrets well hidden, sister, even from those that know me well. I do have hobbies, and I do write poetry."

"I see." She folded her arms, tightening her stance. "I would like to read some of this poetry of yours."

Ah, my sister. Ever the demanding one. "We shall see."

To my surprise, that seemed to placate her – for the time being. "Very well. I will leave you to your..." She sniffed at the air, attempting to place what she was smelling. "...whatever it is you're cooking."

"I assure you, you will enjoy it," I responded with a chuckle. "I expect it will be ready in about twenty to thirty minutes."

"It does smell delicious," she admitted. "I will leave you to it, Chef Edgeworth." With a mockery of her curtsey, she walked off to the living room again, presumably to put the book she'd found away. I would have to find her a poem of mine she could read; I knew that particular battle hadn't ended yet.

Precisely as I had promised, dinner was prepared in just under half an hour, and I readied two dishes and took them to the dining room. "Franziska!" I called to the living room. "Dinner."

I heard the snap of a book shutting. "It's about time!"

"I promised twenty to thirty minutes, and I have provided within that time frame." I gestured to her seat, and to her plate. "Crab stuffed chicken, served with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli. Would you care for a glass of merlot to accompany your meal?"

I could tell: already, Franziska was impressed. "Mmmm. It looks absolutely delicious. And yes, a merlot would be perfect." As she sat down, I ducked back to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. Bringing them out, I set one before her and one at my own place before sitting down myself. "Bon appetit."

She simply nodded in acknowledgement, and primly cut a piece of the chicken off. While I had every confidence in my own cooking, I could not be sure of Franziska's tastes from day to day. I was fairly sure this fell within the spectrum of dishes she would approve of, but then again, I had not cooked for her in over a year. Lucky, the look in her eyes told me all I could have needed. "...Well it is definitely something new!" She gestured at me with her fork. "I believe you have surpassed yourself, Miles."

I had to smile. "Your praise is the highest I could strive for. I'm pleased you enjoy it." With her consent, I began eating myself.

It wasn't until later that night that the inevitable happened. "So, Miles. I believe I mentioned earlier wishing to read some of your poetry?"

I sighed softly, just putting away the last of the dishes. "You are going to be persistent about that, aren't you?"

She just smiled at me. "Of course. Are you embarrassed about it? Is it perhaps...love poems?"

I silently willed my complexion to stay fair. "My poetry spans a great deal of emotions. Some I would not willingly show you, others I might."

"Well then! Show me one of the more acceptable ones?"

I nodded. "Hmm...let me go see what I can find." I retreated to my room, in search of one of my notebooks. I knew a poem in one of these would suit her tastes... After a moment, I found the notebook in question and returned to her, flipping through the pages to find the poem in question. "Ah – here." I handed the book to her.

Franziska's eyes flitted across the page, taking in each handwritten word critically, as she did with everything. "Hmm." Her head tilted slightly. "This is actually not bad." High praise indeed. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of a page, as if she meant to turn it, but after a pause she simply handed the notebook back to me. "I can't understand why you would feel the need to hide it. Especially from your sister."

"My thanks," I replied as I took the book from her hand. "It is merely a hobby, but one I take a great deal of pride in. And as for hiding it... Many of the poems are of an extremely sensitive personal nature. And though I care for you deeply, Franziska, you have not been known to be the most empathic person I have made the acquaintance of."

Again I caught her off-guard. "...Hmph. I...concede your point," she admitted. "I have had no need of such trivialities, after all."

Here was the point where our actual bloodlines drove us apart – at least now. "Now, I shall also concede that I do not deny that you _could_ be, if you so chose. But that is entirely your choice."

Franziska looked uncertain, an unusual expression for the prosecutor. "...Perhaps." She shook herself slightly, recollecting her demeanor. "However! Empathy is entirely unnecessary and even a hinderance for being a prosecutor. And I cannot allow anything to interfere with that!"

I had to chuckle. "I believe that I have done well enough for myself." I returned the notebook to my room, and finished when I returned, "But that is my opinion."

"Hmph," my sister retorted. "I would not have called the last few days having 'done well for yourself' at all."

I hesitated, but gathered my courage again and took a seat near her. "I was referring to my career as a prosecutor." All too well I remembered the accusation that spoke of just this.

"Is it not the same?" Franziska retorted. "Do you only work as a prosecutor, or-" and she hit the cushion on the sofa for emphasis, "-ARE you a prosecutor?"

My voice wouldn't speak for a long moment. When I finally drew up the words again, my voice was soft. "I believe that very thing is what has caused so much grief for me recently."

"I see." This was not a line of conversation Franziska was entirely comfortable with, and her stern expression spoke volumes of it. "Have you come to a conclusion?"

"I believe..." I tried to find words she would understand. "I believe that at the moment, I _am_ a prosecutor because I work as one. But perhaps, I am not meant to be one. Perhaps I do not have to be exclusively a prosecutor in order to make that my profession. ...I am not entirely sure yet."

As I could have expected, this went over with Franziska less than stunningly. Her hands clenched into fists and she stood abruptly, glaring down at me. "A person once told me something," she said, her eyes steady when her tone wouldn't be. "Something important. He said, 'You are a prosecutor. You have been and always will be.' Do you remember this, Miles?"

I felt my arms tense. "I remember hearing that several times over. But I also believe that I can be a prosecutor and still be able to live my life out of the courtroom with a slightly more open manner." I paused, seeking out whatever piece of her was left that he father hadn't touched. "Didn't you ever wish, back then, that we could have made friends? Companions our age?" Images of Butz, of Wright flashed through my mind. They had been gone the moment I entered his house. "We were isolated, Franziska. Created to be perfect – perfect to _him_."

I didn't know if I would be able to find anything left of the girl she could have been in my sister. But I had to try. Ema had opened me up to a world I never knew could be anymore, and though it scared me, it freed me as well. And this freedom...this room to breathe... This was what my sister needed now.

And somewhere in her, I had struck a chord. Shock was written in black and white across her face. She couldn't find the words at first, but when she spoke, I heard her father with her voice. "No! I had no need of friend! I have... I am..." Her hand reached out and found her whip, ever at her side, and she snapped it taut, the sound keeping her together. "I am a von Karma!"

I couldn't manage anger, or disappointment – or even resignation in my voice. My response was flat. "Yes...of course. I would have expected such."

A tense moment passed, and finally she slumped, sinking back onto the couch. "I cannot be anything else, Miles. I... I can't."

Her break in composure startled me, but I couldn't let it show. In this position, Franziska was more likely to startle and clam up again than a deer in the road. I set a hand gently on her arm. "Perhaps not now, or soon. But I do believe you could. You are determined enough."

She flinched away from my hand, not harshly but not enough to make me move it away either. She needed this. "And what then? What would I be, if not a von Karma...? Nothing! I have only one path to follow, and that is the path of the prosecutor. And I will do so as best as I can."

"You will always be a von Karma, as you will always be a perfect prosecutor," I soothed. "But that does not mean you cannot be anything else."

Her eyes darted up to me, that option not having occurred to her. "M-Maybe..." Her fingers toyed with the handle of her whip. "After all, if...if you can do such a thing..." Her back straightened, confidence in her gaze again. "I of course can also!"

I had to smile, albeit softly. "I would expect nothing less from my dear sister." Then I removed my hand, unwilling to make her anymore uneasy than I had to.

"Ha! Nothing is impossible for a von Karma." She was back in perfect form, and she grinned at me. "I will surprise even you, Miles!"

My smile grew in return. "I am anxious to see this." In my mind, I had the sudden uncontrollable urge to hug my sister, but knowing the lashes I would get in return, I thought better of it.

"Wait and see, little brother, and I will show you just how perfect a von Karma can really be!" With a dramatic flourish, the Perfect Prosecutor came back into her own, and her eyes shone like the diamonds Gavin equated her to.

"I have absolute faith in your ability to do anything you set your mind to," I responded, chuckling softly.

And I did. When set with a task, Franziska would stop at nothing.

I could only imagine where she would go with it now.s


End file.
